


Creature

by Tea_and_Genocide



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Mythology, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Brainwashing, Gen, Heat Torture, Jotun Loki, Kinda, Lots of torture, Mentions of Loki's children, SHIELD YOUR EYES YOUNG ONES, Torture, carving, hallucination, how do you tag, it's dark and I'm not sorry at all, mind weirdness, nasty stuff really, really don't read this if you don't like torture, torture porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:19:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_and_Genocide/pseuds/Tea_and_Genocide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki falls.<br/>Loki forgets.<br/>Or: What happened between the fall from the Bifrost and the invasion of Midgard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creature

Loki stares upwards. The sky is so beautiful over Asgard this time of year; it hangs indigo and shining, a tapestry woven with ground rubies, the stars too perfect to be named as something so flawed as a diamond or  pearl, the moons smooth and unblemished glass.

It is the sky he's looked to for centuries, from boyhood through adulthood and on to whatever he is now.

He wants to rip it down and burn it, smash it under his boot, shatter it between his hands, let its shards and ashes be cast into the furthest, hottest pits of Muspelheim.

The stars laugh down at him. The moons snickers. Silly little Jotun, they gleefully howl, perhaps if we dress him up in the skin of something civil he'll give us a good show. A monster placed at the heart of society? What a brilliant game! Perhaps he'll even dance if we dangle a crown in front of him!

Disgusted- at himself, or the stars and moon, he can't say- he lowers his gaze and finds himself looking into the eyes of the All Father, and Norns, the sky's taunts are nothing more than a pinprick compared to the mocking look in those eyes.

The choreographer himself. Much more deserving of the title of Liesmith than Loki.

Before, there was still a part of his heart that wanted Odin to take him and hold him to his chest, speaking as if he was still his father and telling him that it would all be okay, that they'd fix the mess he made together, see to it that the havoc he'd wreaked was put down, that they'd weather the storm he'd created like a family, that they'd hold together, that it was going to be all right, there was nothing to worry about, do _something_ , but all that happens is a tired "No."

_No._

_No._

_No._

_No._

The words echo through his head like the tolling of a bell.

Rejection from the man he's called father for centuries.

Well then. That was that. After everything he'd sacrificed for Asgard, for Odin and Thor and Frigga, he was being cast away like a relic that had outlived its usefulness. Never mind all the times his 'trickery' had saved Asgard from war, how it was he who presented Thor with the very weapon that made him God of Thunder and the staff that made heads bow when the All Father wished, how he'd saved the sun, moon, and goddess of love by letting himself be chased and raped by a monster of a horse, never mind when he let his son be torn apart and watched because it was Odin's minion that had done it. Think for yourself? No, Loki, that's not okay, get out and get out now, go die someplace and rid us of your frigid presence.

Nothing left for him here, in the world of the living and light and that horrible, horrible laughter. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes, but no _(No, Loki),_ mustn't let them see you cry, mustn't let them see how much they hurt you, get out get out get out before they hurt you again.

So he lets go.  A ragged wail tears itself from Thor's throat. He ignores it. The jeweled Aesir sky spirals smaller and smaller until it's drowned out by waves of onyx.

He falls.

          And falls.

                   And falls.

                             And falls.

                                      And falls.

                                                And falls .

                                                          And falls.

                                                                   And falls.

                                                                             And falls.

 

It's cold.

It shouldn't be cold, because for one, even though Helheim has a lower temperature than Asgard, he can stand it without having to bundle up or shiver, which is relevant because Helheim is where he's hoping he is right now and he's shivering so there's no way he can be there, and for another, if the cold hadn't bothered him in either world (not to mention he's a Jotun and therefore that much more resilient to cold, but no, don't think of that monster, don't think don't think don't think don't think) ( _No, Loki_ ) and he's feeling it like this now, it must be pretty damn freezing.

It's also not in fact Helheim, which makes him exhaustedly irritated. Why isn't he dead yet? He should have died by now. Shouldn't he? Hadn't the stories always told of how the Void swallows up victims and spits out their lifeless shells wherever it pleased? Or was that yet another something that Odin _(No, Loki)_ had lied to him about? Was he going to fall until he landed and be dashed into a blob on the ground, or until he starved to death? That seemed rather disappointing after such a dramatic sendoff.

More falling. He obsesses over what happened, how he could have done things differently, how Odin _(No, Loki)_ or Thor could have done things differently, he curses Laufey, curses Odin _(No, Loki)_ , curses himself most of all. Why can't he do anything right? This isn't the first time something has broken under his hands. God of mischief, god of chaos. That's what he is. Of course things break in his hands. What chaos is there in whole things? Not much. Maybe that's why he can never get things to turn out right. He couldn't rule Asgard properly, couldn't kill Thor properly, couldn't kill Odin _(No, Loki)_ properly, couldn't even kill himself properly. Yes, he decides, it would be boring if everything I ever did turned out successfully. After all, I'm not Thor. He pauses, waiting for someone to chime in with a 'You're right, Loki! What an intelligent point of view!' but nobody does, so the laughably hollow thoughts go unrewarded. Something going right? For him? No. Not possible. He was just a backup to Thor, a replacement for when he got himself into a heap of trouble that lead him away from the throne room. It didn't matter that Thor was an absolute idiot with no idea how to be diplomatic or that Loki had indeed kept Asgard from falling apart despite the rebellion of the Warriors Three, or despite how many times in the past Odin _(No, Loki)_ had called on him to entertain foreign visitors and keep Thor occupied elsewhere so he didn't offend anyone with his brash, opinionated arrogance. What had Thor ever done for Asgard? Won a few battles? Knocked someone down with his hammer?  And now he was revered as the Golden Prince? Didn't anyone remember what Loki had done for them? He was the one who got Thor his hammer and Odin his staff, he'd engaged in a contest that would leave him with his lips sewn shut by needle and twine, he was responsible for half the treasure in Asgard's vaults, he'd manipulated Thor out of starting war so many times he lost count, Norns, he'd saved Freja, the sun, and the moon by playing Svadifari's whore and broodmare. And what did it get him? Rejection.

Odin _(No, Loki)_. Damn him. What was he thinking, keeping a Jotun for a son? And not telling him what he was? Letting him think that he was an outsider simply for being who he was instead of being a monster? Not exactly a recipe for a healthy relationship. But then again, perhaps they were one and the same. He was a monster and an outsider. He _is_ a monster and an outsider. Jotun. Frost giants. Freaks of nature, savage and cruel under the reign of Laufey, Laufey with his shadowed intent and obscured motives, Laufey whose heart colder than the realm he ruled, Laufey who had left his newborn baby out in the middle of nowhere to die of starvation or freeze to death, Laufey who fathered him instead of Odin-( _noLokinoLokinoLokinoLoki)_

Ice collects on his lashes. He can feel it stinging his cheek as he blinks. Most of his face is frosted over as well, and probably all of his clothing, but he doesn't care because he's been falling for a long, long while. There is the sense that he should be hearing it crinkle and crack when his limbs shift in space, but there is no sound. Not even the rushing of wind.

***

Time passes swiftly. It's not a trick of his mind, either. He's been counting seconds in his head. One was when he grew exhausted with Odin _(No, Loki)_ , Thor, his (failed) attempt at ruling the throne, and generally questioning every decision he's ever made, two was directly after, three, four, five, and on and on and on he goes until he loses count somewhere around five hundred thousand and two. By then his stomach is growling at him a bit, because even though he can go months and months without food, it doesn't mean his body likes it or that he doesn't get hungry.

***

It's a long fall, he'll realize later, plummeting from the top of the World Tree to the Chitauri's hiding spot. A long fall with no food or water or people to talk to. But that's okay, because he can talk to himself. He's a good conversationalist. A bit angry at times, yes, and sometimes he says the strangest things, and he can't hear a thing so it gets difficult to keep speaking, and sometimes even when his mouth isn't moving he keeps speaking in his head in chattering bursts of aggression and hysterical laughter, but it's not as though there's anything else to do. Besides, when he gets tired of himself, he talks to the shadows against the stars. See, the stars are all around him and constantly changing, but in a way that he can understand, in a way that he knows is logical because he's falling past them. It's fun to watch them whirl around him. It makes sense. Not like the shadows. The shadows twist and writhe and block out the light of the stars as they move, flicking from one side of his vision to the other. He doesn't like shadows. They give him a bad feeling. He thinks he sees something glinting like fangs once, and another time he's positive one is sneaking up behind him, but as soon as he turns his head, it's gone. He doesn't try very hard to fend them off, though, because part of him thinks he wants to go meet someone named Hela (whoever that is) and they might help him there (wherever _there_ is. He can't imagine anything but where he is now), and another part thinks that maybe they'll hurt him, but that's good. At least he'll know he's still alive. At least he'll know he can still feel.

He distracts himself by counting the stars (one two three four five six seven eight nine ten seven three six four nine eleven two thirteen twenty eight ninety-), and the shadows slip out of his thoughts until he catches sight of them again, and then he ignores them and goes back to counting (one two three four five six seven eight nine ten five ninety thirty six seventeen forty three-). Eventually, he stops fearing them. Even when they come close, bare their strange jaws- just teeth and mist- brush up against him, bite him, tear his clothing, lick up his blood, snatch chunks of flesh from him, he enjoys their presence. They don't leave him alone, so embraces them. They won't let him down. They won't hurt his heart the way they hurt his body, the way someone else has, someone he can't quite remember...

_(No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki)_

It's a chorus. A drum beat. Repetitive like the thing that hums through him. Pump-pump _(No, Loki), pump-pump (No, Loki), pump-pump (No, Loki), pump-pump (No, Loki)._

***

He forgets as he falls. Slowly, the realms and things that should be stored in his memory blink out, one by one, until all that's left is the obscured remains of people and places he once knew _(No, Loki)_ , and when those are gone, all he knows is the shadows and the cold and the hunger and the emptiness. And then, those are gone as well. It's like he doesn't exist. He doesn't see the stars or the shadows, nor does he feel the way he falls or the burning of the ice or the gnawing pit in his middle where his stomach once was. Time isn't there. He isn't there. He is _nothing_ , not even a consciousness, and nothing he remains for the rest of his fall.

_(No, Loki)_

***

It's been months since he fell from the Bifrost, and he's plummeted leagues and leagues and leagues, past billions of stars and thousands of shadows. But he doesn't know this. There is no vertigo when he hits the ground of Thanos' world. It's not a mystery to him why the Mad Titan didn't just kill him and send him to Mistress Death like he would have done for any other creature because he is nothing when it happens. He doesn't think. He doesn't wonder. He doesn't ask. Thanos doesn't speak at him. He merely stares at the limp body on the ground and calls for the Other, who slinks out of the shadows like a ghost.

They speak in low voices, one rumbling and one hissing and scratching through Loki's ears like tinfoil. There was no sound in the Void but the babbling of his own frayed mind _(No, Loki)_ , and now that he's not in the void, it hits him like a blow from a hammer ( _Hammer what is hammer seems familiar why is that whose hammer is it why does it make him feel again) (Am I a consciousness) (No, Loki)(Who is Loki_ ). He feels. He feels pain. He feels pain and it _hurts_. A low groan escapes his mouth, nothing more than a whisper, but it grates against his throat nonetheless.

"What is your name, creature?" demands the Other. Thanos watches with hooded eyes.

 _I don't know_ , thinks the creature in despair.

"Remember." it snarls, scooping him up off the ground- frost and ice shudder off his body as if afraid to touch this thing, this thing that now has a six-fingered hand pressed to his cheek with the clawed fingers digging into his waxy skin. The creature tastes fire, and he's not a creature anymore, he's Loki of Asgard- no, not of Asgard, but of Jotunheim _(No, Loki)._

The words fall off his lips and out of his mouth like vomit. "Loki Not-Odinson Loki Laufeyson Silvertongue Liesmith Skywalker Mother of Monsters God of Chaos God of Mischief Jotun Runt Ergi Sorcerer-"

The Other makes a gesture, and he is the Creature again. Dumbly, it blinks at the images flashing before its eyes. Someone with a mane of golden hair and a hammer reaches for the creature, mouth open in a ragged cry. But this makes no sense; why would anyone be that upset over the creature? It must be a mistake. The man must be sad over someone else. He doesn't mean anything to anyone. He doubts anyone even knew he existed until now. He is nothing. He is simply _not._

Thanos grins a most unpleasant grin. The Other echoes it.

"Loki," he purrs. "Let me give you a welcome befitting the king of Asgard."

"No, Loki," whispers the creature who they named as such, but it's the name of a stranger, he doesn't know, he doesn't know, he doesn't know. They don't pay him any attention.

***

They take his eyes one at a time. The first is carved out with a dull spoon-like tool, paraded in front of him as they call him Odin One-Eye _(No, Loki)_ , Father of Bastards _(No, Loki)_ , Fucker of a Whore in a Crown _(No, Loki)_ , the Ruler of Golden Ash _(No, Loki)_. He fights them with every breath he takes, because he's not Loki, but they seem to think he is and he's getting a punishment intended for Loki and he wants it to stop. Nothing he might be, but nothing still hurts when they put their cruel silver inside him. They- named by the Other as Chitauri- fashion him an eye patch out of the twisted scrap of metal, pressing its sharp edges into his skin and bone until it even stays when they have him braced on his hands and knees with his face digging into the ground, rending the skin from his back all the way down to his legs, or digging cold metal _things_ into his skin that have no right to be there. The second eye, they don't take on purpose, but crush during a session with a wickedly heavy, blunt weapon, and when its juices run down his face, he licks them up like the most precious thing in the world, because they are, they're the clearest, finest water in all the nine realms and they go down his throat like honey, and suddenly he's seeing Loki drinking a glass of mead on the throne and realizes just how long Loki would have gone without a drink if he was here. It makes him thirsty for more, but they cut off his tongue as punishment and then he just feels sick. Then another blow goes to his head, and he stops moving and thinking and breathing for a good hour or two with half his head caved in.

He doesn't question how they bring him back from that, but soon enough, there's that fire on his newly formed tongue, and his head is solid again, and he has both eyes back, along with all the fingers and toes he'd lost, and the jagged lines where they'd taken things, lumpy, spongy, glistening, bloody _things_ out of him and not put them back, are healed. His body re-inflates. He is neither hungry nor thirsty. He gasps brokenly, because through the fire in his body, there is color and images again, he's staring down at a floor that's spattered with his blood but so shiny he can see himself in it.

Eyes. His eyes blink back at him, but the pale, gaunt, hackled creature that's built around them isn't him. He can't remember what he looks like, but it certainly isn't _that_. Can he just give the eyes back? What can he use them for? Staring at the walls? At the floor? At everything they do to him? At they themselves? No, he really doesn't want these eyes. Chitauri faces get so tiresome to look at.

***

He's not sure how long he's been with them when the little magic that remains gives up on maintaining his illusion of pink skin, letting the inky blue bleed over the pale complexion of his glamour. Ridges form on his skin. Eyes of a monster leech the light from his new eyes, blooming a sinister shade of  red. _(Cannibal) (Monster) (Freak) (Beast) (Savage) (Brute) (Just another stolen relic) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki)(Who is Loki) (Loki is gone) (Creature is here)(Creature looks like Loki)(Creature looks like Loki never wanted)(Creature looks like something Loki despised)_

The ridges were a sensory organ for Jotun, the creature sees the thing called Loki reading in an old text. They help gauge things like temperature and wind direction, allowing them to 'smell' things in the air around them like a snake with its tongue. This makes them extremely sensitive, so of course, the Chitauri take great pleasure in trying to extract them, digging their cruel silver down at the base and carving their way under, making it a game to see who can get all the ridges off in one piece. One wins after his fourth rebuilding, hanging the interlaced flesh from the wall in his cell like it was the head of some wild beast in a hunter's cabin.

Beast. Yes. He is a beast. They call him beast. They call him monster. They call him bastard of the ice, cannibal, savage, all sorts of terrible things, but that doesn't make him certain it's true until the Other comes calling.

_(No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki)(Not Loki)_

The Other is on the ship all the time, and he never deems it fit to set foot near his prisoner, but the Creature can sense when he's close because of his stench. He has the sour smell of _things_ that belong inside the body being thrust out into the open air, and he brings with him images, dreams, nightmares, of things the Creature never did- or did he?- never wanted to do- but wait, he did- never wanted to see- but he saw them anyways. The Other reaches into his mind and twists it up into little knots and rumples and cuts something just here and shoves it up against something else until he has a maze of memories so twisted he doesn't even remember what's been manipulated and what hasn't.

_(No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki)_

All of Asgard can see through his glamour. They point, jeer, and laugh at him. Why? Why are they- oh. Odin sits on his throne, laughing, Thor next to him with a disgusted frown as the Creature's image flickers from blue to pink to blue to pink to blue to pink to

_(No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki)(Who is Loki)(Not the Creature, surely)_

He walks through the halls of Asgard, inky blue. Every single person he meets screams and runs away, but he doesn't care, he chases them on four legs like the beast that he is. He catches them, tears out their throats with his teeth, and he howls to the moon with his snout drawn up into a snarl and his fingers sharpened into talons and his horns like the tip of a spear and his skin curling with little whisps of frozen vapors. His body is a weapon. Somewhere in the distance, a horse neighs. He wants to go after it and rips its throat out as well, but deep in him something rebels, something deeper than the Other has reached yet, so he instead chases Mother- not mother, Frigga- down into the dungeon and splatters her blood along the walls as he eats her whole. She tastes like salt and fear, and he relishes the way his jaw distends to fit her into his gullet.

_(No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki)(They keep showing him things about Loki)(Do they think the Creature is Loki)(They must)(But no)(They make no mistakes)_

Thor stands alone with him. They're in his chambers. They're brothers. Thor is smiling at him like nothing is wrong, looking for all the world like nothing has ever been wrong and nothing will be wrong. The Monster's glamour falls like a curtain. Thor rears back from the cold, a hard scowl on his face as he staggers back. "Monster! Creature," he shouts, summoning Mjolnir and advancing on his not-brother with pitiless black eyes. "Creature is right," muses the Creature, stepping forward before the hammer can fall and reaching his clawed fingers deep into the boiling warmth of his chest, gripping his heart and tearing it, ripping into it with his teeth before the light had even faded from the Golden Prince's eyes and swallowing it down whole.

_(No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki)(He is the Creature)(Not Loki)_

"No," father says, and suddenly, father isn't father anymore. Father is just Odin now, and brother is just Thor and mother is just Frigga. Loki is not one of them. No, the All Father tells him, and he's no longer his son.

_(No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki)(No)(No)(No)(No)(No)(No, beast)(No, monster) (No, Creature)_

And then he's back in his prison, with Chitauri standing a vigil over his body and the Other's shadow casting a long, eerie shape over the door. It goes on for too long. He watches as Loki kills Thor, Odin, Frigga, the Warriors Three, Sif, Baldr, Heimdall, Laufey, the whole of Asgard and Jotunheim combined over and over and over and every time he does it it's different, yet still done in a way that leaves them begging him to put them out of their misery so they won't see his monstrous form anymore, and then the creature blinks and they've turned on him, binding him in a thousand different ways and slaughtering him like the monster he is, but before they off him, they bring his children in front of him and slit their necks one  by one, and that alone never changes no matter how many times he sees it. The creature screams, even though he long ago lost the ability to create sound from his parched throat.

_(No, Loki) (He's seen enough of Loki)_

***

Everything they do is a blur. Creature doesn't know how long he's been with the Chitauri, he doesn't know how many times he's been rebuilt, he doesn't know how many times he's been taken apart and ripped and torn and stolen from, but he knows exactly how many times the Other orders him into the heat room. It gives them a silent command, and they transport him into a small chamber, leaving him alone for hours at a time, paralyzed, as warmth pours in and settles around his body like a blanket. It's stifling. It's maddening. It's paralyzing. His lips split and bleed. His skin tightens, blistering, peeling off, leaving him leaking, oozing fluid. He can't feel his muscles, they stop responding. His stomach churns, though it's not been used since the monster Loki fell. He is angry, restless, he feels like pacing along the walls, smashing them. He hallucinates things... horrible, horrible things, things the Other might be influencing, but he doesn't know for sure because his thoughts run from his grasp like butterflies, like scraps of paper in the wind, like like like like like like like Loki Loki Loki Loki Loki

Loki, Liesmith and Silvertongue, is paralyzed and on his knees. Vali, his son, his wonderful, fierce, warrior son slices open his little brother, Loki's little Nari, his soft and cheerful boy who never hurt a soul, who dreamed of being a scholar in Vaneheim, or perhaps a healer, but would have nothing to do with fighting, who had just grown out of clinging to his mother's skirts, who just grew tall enough to pass his father's hip a year ago. Vali draws out the long, twisted, glistening red organ from his little brother's gut, and Nari makes a soft little _oh_ , and then, having never so much as raised a hand to defend himself, not looking at his father, not looking at his brother, not looking at anything, not seeing, he sinks down to his knees and slumps over in a way that shouldn't be possible, but _is_ because suddenly there's all that empty space inside him, and Vali turns to Loki and Loki can do nothing but watch with unmoving horror as his son binds him with his own son's intestines. The Creature screams until they sever his windpipe after that, because this -memory-vision-thing- behind his eyes has feeling of reality that the other visions don't, and if he didn't know better, he'd say that it hadn't been touched by the Other at all.

_(No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No(No(No(No (thoughts are scattered parchment) (Words are wind)_

***

The first time he comes back to himself after the heat, he doesn't move no matter how much they poke and prod and irritate his broken skin; only when they begin to put him back in the room for a second round does he fight back, forcing limbs that haven't seen natural movement in weeks to bend and twist and hit. It's fruitless. They leave him in for twice as long. He coughs up a mouthful of  bitter bile. It doesn't make him feel any better.

The third time, he claws at the dirt until his ~~fingernails~~ -talons - claws - daggers are cracked and bloody, and it still doesn't do him any good. He's sick again. They don't pause.

The fourth time, he begs for them to stop. It's the first time he's begged for anything since he was on his mother's lap begging for a cookie, even when he'd had his mouth sewn shut, or when Svadifari had tracked him like a hound through the forest, or when Vali had held his son down and reached into his core- no no nonononononono _(No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki)(This is not Creature) (Creature has not experienced this) (Creature is not Loki) (No (No (No_ notthatanythingbutthatthoughtsarenothingmorethanscatteredparchment and he can breathe again, at least until they move on to the next round of torture.

_(No, Loki)(Creature isn't Loki) (Creature has seen enough of Loki) (Creature resents Loki) (Creature hates him) (Creature doesn't want to hear about him anymore)_

The fifth time, he screams, no fighting, no struggling, just screaming. He keeps it up until he realizes that 'screaming' is actually nothing more than a dull rasping in the back of his throat, an animal kind of sound that is so perfectly _Creature_ , he can't help but wheeze a giggle. And another. And another. And another, until he's cackling like something well and truly insane, and even when they yell and punish him with pain, he doesn't stop until he's laughed himself into a delirious haze.

The sixth, he lays limp like a boned fish. That doesn't make any difference either. They just haul him into the heat and leave him. His flesh smells good when it cooks. Creature hasn't eaten in a while, he thinks. Some food would be lovely.

The seventh, he hallucinates ~~his~~ Loki's sons sending each other to their sister Hela. It's the worst thing he's seen, worse than anything the Other could dream up and cast at him, because no matter how many times they've died or killed, they don't turn on each other, or at least, they hadn't until this fever-dream. Son spills son's blood. Daughter laughs. Creature mourns for the death of their sibling bond as much as he does the death of the children themselves.

The eighth, he has not even the strength to feel the pain.

The ninth, they rebuild him right there in the chamber, because the current body quits. _No Loki_ , something whispers as he floats in a torrent of black felt.

The tenth, Thor stands in the room and ridicules him. It's insulting, because Thor is pacing around on those legs of his, while Creature sits and stares, because just a few hours ago, the Chitauri severed his leg midthigh ( _a proper runt doesn't walk with a steady gait_ , they sneered as they hacked at it with the blunted teeth of a rusty blade). Jotun, runt, bastard, not my brother, failure, Laufeyson, trickster, Loki's brother calls him. He thinks maybe when Thor finds out that he's not in fact Loki _(He's Creature),_ he'll bash in his head so Loki's daughter Hela can take care of him. _Much better than staying here any longer,_ thinks Creature. They keep it a bit cold for his tastes, down there with Hela, and the neighbors are up at all hours of the night, but it beats staying here. The Other melts out of the shadows and walks through Thor, reaching out and clamping his six-fingered hand on the Creature's forehead. _(No, Loki)_

_(No, Loki) (No no no no not Loki not Loki no ~~not anymore~~ )(Creature)(He is Creature)_

"I have a job for you, Loki," it rasps, and with a flash of fire on its tongue, Creature knows what Thanos wants it to do.

_(Loki will attack) (Loki will command) (Loki will win)_

_(Creature is Loki) (Loki is Creature) (Creature knows what Loki's done) (He knows from watching) (Loki knows what Creature has done)(Creature has sat and taken the torture and never once tried to escape) (Creature can feel Loki's disapproval) (but Loki can't do anything about it now) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Loki) (No, Creature)(Not Creature)(Loki)(Loki)(No Loki)(No Loki)(No)(No)_

There isn't any ceremony as he's released from the heat. His limbs are fire and liquid, thoughts scattered parchment, vision blurry. One of the Chitauri pull him to his feet (suddenly he has both of them again) and presses a curved, sharp gold-silver-glowing-blue spear into his hand. Something instinctive inside him latches onto the magic within it, drawing out a tattered illusion of his old Aesir skin like a cloak, and there's something _pulling_ at it, this new weapon, from somewhere far away, and with him gripping the handle, it's sucked up into the current and dumped off somewhere, it doesn't matter where, because the Master wants him there and that's that.

He hears voices, hissing, whispering in his ears like the shadows did, but he darts a look around _(the world spins why is it spinning like that why won't it stop if it doesn't cease he's going to be sick make it still please)(No, Loki)(A god doesn't beg you filthy savage)(But you're not a god)(You never were)(Just a savage)(Monster)(Beast)(Creature)_ and there are no dark shapes against the wall, cast by the creatures in front of him, but they're there nonetheless, whispering through the pounding of his head.  There is something in his hand that speaks to his mind like the Other speaks to his mind, like Master speaks to his mind, but muted.

"Sir, put down the spear," someone orders , _(No, Loki, he hears, but he's Creature, Loki isn't here anymore_ ). A bead of sweat drops off the end of his nose. His head pounds achingly, the room is spinning around him, and he's about to collapse into a puddle of aching limbs and never move again, but the staff pulses in his hand and reminds him that he has a job to do before he dies and gets to see Loki's daughter.

He's got one leg (the one they just rebuilt him, that's why it stings so to use it, right?) folded under him. It straightens at his command, stiff and protesting, but functional. He glances down at the weapon, to the glowing blue of the gem nestled between the blades. Power hums through it, through them, a single creature, a single monster, a single beast, intoxicating as a siren's song.

_(No, Loki)_

_(There is no Loki here) (Only Creature)_

The Other has given him orders. Somewhere, Thanos is influencing the spear. The puppeteers are placed, and all that remains is for their toy to dance.

The Creature will give them a dance. He'll give them a show. He'll give them everything they want. But it won't be Loki doing it like they want. Loki is gone, and he knows not where or how to search.

Elbow draws back, slings forward. A shockwave of energy lifts his opposition off the ground. What is it they want? A war? A death toll? A show?

_(No, Loki)_

_(Fuck off, old man. I'm tired of listening to you)_

_(Oh)(You're Loki)_

_(Get out, mudspawn)_

_(And just like that, Loki is back)(Creature is no longer Creature)(He is Loki)(He is there, in Loki's mind)(But Loki pulls him out of the driver's seat and shoves him down into the darkest, deepest corner he can find) (Loki is back)(Loki has his body back)(Loki is back)(Loki is back and filled with hatred)(Filled with hatred for everything)(Memories and visions flood him)(Loki takes them and burns them in the fires of his rage)(There is fear in his mind)(And confusion)(But now there are these weak, pitiful mortals demanding his attention)(He will fear later)(Not it is time for the puppet to dance)(Loki will decimate this planet)_

_(Loki takes one look around him and fires)_

Creature is not Creature. Loki is back. Whispers in his mind fade with the sound of battle. He has his task. When it's done perhaps there will be death for him, but not now. He has a task to complete.

But not the task the Other has planned for him. Not the task of the Master.

Master and the Other are brilliant. They've set up their plans, calculated each move and anticipated each word, and it's without a doubt the most impressive thing he's seen. Almost. However, they made a mistake in their planning and judgment and calculations: they tore out Loki Liesmith, bent him up and shredded him and broke him and shattered him, but they _shoved him back into himself_. They gave him back some semblance of a mind, and with that, sharp, twisted, jagged, shattered as it is, Loki Liesmith is going to hone it until it's even more deadly, and then he's going to thrust it neatly and painfully into their throats when they least expect it. Slowly. Intimately. In every way they've taught him to fear.

Loki Liesmith is filled with vengeance towards his enemies and his not-family and insignificant ants he's never met before. Mortals die. Loki Liesmith plays along. He listens to the spear. He lets it control him. And all the while, he plots, laying traps for heroes and villains alike, and whoever strays into them will fall.

_(No, Loki)_

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, that was my take on what happened to Loki after he fell from the Bifrost, though I'll probably be proven completely wrong when Thor 2 comes out.  
> CONGRATULATIONS FOR READING THROUGH THE WHOLE FIC. GOLD STAR. YOU'RE AWESOME. This was actually written as a pain-off contest between myself and a fellow author buddy. A winner has yet to be decided, but we'll see how that works out.


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